" so you're the big bad . "

**

xi. Damaged goods
6431 Words

⭓ MICHIGAN, detroit ≋ 9:05 AM

                     JADE SAT WITH THE TEAM in the dimly lit conference room, her eyes scanning the gruesome crime scene photos laid out before her. The air was heavy, thick with the weight of what they were dealing with. The victims' faces stared back at her, frozen in their final moments. She flipped through their profiles, piecing together fragments of their lives.

   Victim One: Maya Collins (26). A social worker who dedicated her life to at-risk youth, Maya had a reputation for being tenacious and warm-hearted. She'd grown up in the foster system, surviving years of abuse at the hands of her drug-addicted mother until she was twelve. Her body had been found in an abandoned orphanage just outside Detroit—a place she had once lived with her siblings.

   Her lifeless form had been placed against a crumbling wall, head tilted as if she were lost in thought. Her hands were bound in her lap, clutching a blood-streaked page from her journal. Behind her, a spray of blood painted the wall, the vivid red cutting through the decay. The spiral, the unsub's twisted signature, was carved deep into the back of her neck, just below her hairline.

   Victim Two: Rachel Martinez (27). A college student studying psychology, Rachel was months away from graduating with honors. Her dream was to open a nonprofit to provide mental health support for abuse survivors—a cause close to her heart. Orphaned at a young age, she had suffered years of physical abuse from her aunt before running away at fourteen. Her body was discovered in an abandoned school she'd once sought refuge in.

   Rachel had been positioned across a dusty desk, her arms stretched unnaturally outward, her head twisted as though violently dragged into place. Class notes, stained with blood, were scattered across the floor. The unsub's spiral was carved into her left forearm, visible through the torn sleeve of her shirt. Bloody handprints and shattered glass surrounded the scene, a haunting testament to her struggle.

   Victim Three: Olivia "Liv" Jensen (25). A waitress working two jobs to support her younger brother, Liv had spent her life protecting him, sacrificing her own dreams of becoming a chef. She and her brother had endured years of abuse from their parents, bouncing between foster homes. She was found in a vacant house where she'd once lived as a child.

   Liv's body had been curled into a fetal position on the floor, her hands bound tightly behind her back. Her apron was draped across her torso, soaked in blood. Bruises marred her face, evidence of a brutal attack. The room stank of mildew and copper, the bloodied footprints circling her body adding an eerie, ritualistic touch. The spiral was carved into the palm of her right hand.

   Victim Four: Sierra Hunt (25). An aspiring musician, Sierra channeled her trauma into songwriting. Performing at local venues, she had used her music to share her story and connect with others. Her body had been discovered in an abandoned music studio where she had recorded her final demo. Her guitar lay beside her, smeared with blood.

   She had been placed on her back, her arms outstretched like she was being crucified. Her hands were tied together over her chest, where the unsub had carved the spiral deeply into her skin, almost as if savoring the act. Blood splatter on the walls resembled soundwaves, a grotesque mockery of her passion. Her final moments were captured on a recording, her screams echoing faintly on a tape left behind.

   Jade broke the heavy silence, her voice cutting through the tension. "Do we know how he's luring them to these locations? It's not like he's dumping their bodies—they're killed where they're found."

   Spencer, seated beside her, glanced up from the file in his hands. His fingers toyed absently with the edge of the paper as he answered, his voice soft but precise. "That's correct. The victims are killed at the scene. There's no evidence of transport post-mortem."

   "So," Jade prompted, her brow furrowed.

   "So?" JJ echoed, leaning forward slightly.

   Jade gestured to the photos. "I mean, they're going there willingly, right? It's not like he's forcing them to these places. It's got to be someone they trust—or at least feel comfortable enough to follow."

   Hotch nodded, his expression grave. "If that's true, there's a personal connection. He has access to them in a way that makes them feel safe."

   "But Garcia already ruled out any direct connection," Morgan pointed out. "No shared jobs, no mutual friends. What would a social worker, a psych student, a waitress, and a musician have in common?"

   Spencer adjusted his tie, his gaze distant as he thought aloud. "It's not about who they are now. It's about who they were." He turned to the team, his eyes sharp with understanding. "They were all abused. That's the common thread. He's targeting survivors."

   The room fell silent, the weight of Spencer's words settling over them. Jade exhaled slowly, her fingers brushing over the edge of the photo in her hands. "Then this isn't random. He's choosing them for a reason."

   Morgan crossed his arms, leaning back. "Yeah, but what's the why? Why take them back to places tied to their trauma? That's not just about killing—it's about control."

   "It's symbolic," Spencer said, his voice low. "He's forcing them to relive their pain. It's a form of psychological torture."

   Hotch's jaw tightened. "If this guy is recreating their trauma, he's been watching them—learning their stories."

   "And that means he's been planning this for a while," JJ added grimly.

   Jade nodded, her mind racing. "We're dealing with someone who doesn't just want to kill. He wants to send a message."

   The room was eerily quiet except for the faint tapping of Spencer's fingers against the keyboard. He leaned closer to the screen, his brows furrowed in thought. "I've been researching the spiral," he said, his voice quick but precise. "It's possible the symbol represents a physical manifestation of his warped ideology—a mark of 'release' that he believes the victims must endure to achieve peace."

   Hotch stood at the head of the table, arms crossed and expression impassive, though his voice carried a faint edge of skepticism. "So, we're looking at an abuse victim killing other abuse victims to 'set them free'? Why would someone do that?"

   Morgan, seated across from him, leaned back in his chair, his body language casual but his eyes sharp. "Yeah, and if he's so twisted up about abuse, why not just kill himself?"

   Jade shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her gaze dropping to the table.

   Spencer's gaze flickered toward her briefly before he straightened in his chair. His tone was slightly more deliberate now, his hands gesturing as he explained. "Maybe he's not killing them because he empathizes with their pain. Maybe he sees them as dangerous—damaged, even. In his mind, the second they were abused, their future ceased to exist. He could believe they're a threat to the world because they're broken beyond repair, and by eliminating them, he thinks he's performing some kind of service."

   "Damaged goods," Morgan said, his tone tinged with disgust. "So, what, he's ridding the world of people he doesn't think belong?"

   "Exactly," Spencer replied, tilting his head slightly as his thoughts coalesced. "And if he sees himself as part of that group, it's possible that killing himself is meant to be the final act in this... deranged mission."

   Before anyone could respond, Hotch's phone buzzed sharply, breaking the tension. He stepped back slightly, answering with his usual clipped efficiency. "Agent Hotchner."

   The team watched as Hotch listened intently, his expression tightening ever so slightly. "Yes, Chief Carter," he said, his voice low and steady. He nodded once, then exhaled, his jaw flexing before he hung up. "They found another body."

   The words landed heavily in the room, the grim reality settling over them like a weight.

   Spencer lingered a moment, his gaze fixed on the computer screen. "If we're right about his psychological profile, this escalation could mean he's nearing the end of his cycle. We need to figure out where he sees himself in this narrative before it's too late."

   "Then let's move, genius," Morgan said, already halfway out the door.

    As the team filed out, Jade stayed a step behind, her mind racing with the weight of Spencer's words. She swallowed hard and followed the others, the hum of their voices fading into the heavy silence of what awaited them.

⭓ MICHIGAN, detroit ≋ 10:00 AM

   The abandoned animal shelter reeked of decay, the sharp, metallic tang of blood hanging in the air. Lila Everett's lifeless body swayed slightly from the ceiling beams, suspended by her wrists. Her head drooped forward, blood dripping steadily into dark puddles on the floor. The defensive wounds slashed across her arms and hands told a story of violent resistance—a desperate fight she had ultimately lost.

   Around her, rows of rusted animal cages were filled with skeletal remains and bloodied carcasses, arranged in a grotesque spectacle. The unsub had turned the space into his personal theater of horror.

   Lila Carter, the local officer assigned to the case, stood frozen in the doorway. Her wide eyes locked onto the victim's mutilated body, her breath shallow. "Her name being Lila is unnerving," she whispered, her voice trembling. She swallowed hard before gagging and stepping back. "I'm sorry," she said weakly, looking at Hotch with wide, apologetic eyes before bolting from the scene.

   The team watched her leave in silence, their attention quickly shifting back to the horrifying display before them.

   Spencer Reid cleared his throat, adjusting his position slightly as he focused on the cages. "Uh, the cages surrounding her are filled with animal remains—bones and decomposed flesh. Based on the arrangement, it's likely the unsub created a sort of... macabre audience for his performance. He could be anthropomorphizing the animals or using them as symbolic witnesses to the act."

   Derek Morgan glanced at him. "Man, you gotta work on your timing."

   Spencer blinked, momentarily confused, before stepping back slightly. His gaze remained locked on the scene, his fingers twitching slightly as if itching to document every detail.

   Jade Beckett stood rigid, her eyes scanning the blood splattered across the floor and walls. Deep claw marks, likely made by the victim in her final moments, were gouged into the concrete beneath her dangling legs. Her jaw tightened, but she said nothing, trying to suppress the rising bile in her throat.

   Derek pointed to the victim's thigh. "And there's the spiral." His voice was grim, his usual swagger muted in the face of the unsub's escalating brutality.

   The carving was crude, etched into her upper thigh just above her knee, its edges jagged and still oozing blood.

   JJ stepped forward, wrapping her arms around herself. "He's getting more violent. The way he's escalating—he's not just trying to send a message. He's making it personal."

   Spencer moved toward one of the cages, his eyes narrowing as he crouched to examine a pile of bones. He reached out tentatively, his fingers hovering over one of the skeletal remains.

   "Reid, don't you dare touch that bone," Hotch said sharply, his tone brooking no argument. He didn't even look up from the body, his command landing with quiet authority.

   Spencer straightened immediately, his hands retreating as he adjusted his sweater. "I wasn't going to touch it," he mumbled, though his expression betrayed him.

   JJ shook her head, her voice soft but heavy with frustration. "What's his endgame? Does he think he's casting them off to hell or something?"

   Morgan folded his arms, his jaw tightening. "No, it's worse than that. He thinks this is justice. In his mind, they're damaged beyond repair—like their abuse defined them, broke them. To him, they're worthless. He's probably convincing himself he's doing the world a favor."

   Spencer nodded, his voice picking up speed as he added, "It's a classic case of projection. The unsub likely sees himself as damaged too, but instead of addressing his own trauma, he externalizes it, inflicting his pain on others. He's trying to create order out of his chaos, even if it's through violence."

   Jade exhaled sharply, her voice cutting through the conversation like a knife. "This guy is fucking mental," she muttered, her tone low and tense. Without another word, she turned and walked away, her boots echoing sharply against the cracked floor.

⭓ MICHIGAN, detroit ≋ 7:40 PM

   The echo of Hotch and Spencer's voices drifted through Jade's mind, their words lingering like a heavy fog. The picture they painted of the unsub felt as cold and calculated as the crime scenes they had witnessed.

   Hotch's voice had been firm, his words crisp and precise. "The unsub we're looking for is a white male, early 30s, somewhere between 6' and 6'2", with a lean, muscular build. He's resourceful, highly intelligent, and disturbingly organized. His ability to befriend and then murder multiple victims without leaving behind significant evidence suggests he's a meticulous planner. This level of detail indicates a background in a job that requires precision—something like security, warehouse work, or other isolated positions where he could observe without drawing attention."

   Spencer had added his voice, offering the psychological layer that tied the unsub's motivations to a deeper, more twisted place. "He specifically targets women who've survived significant trauma, but who have managed to overcome it. These victims—every one of them—grew up in foster care or abusive households. They're resilient, they've worked to heal, either through their careers or passions, but in his eyes, that strength is a rejection of his own pain. He sees their attempts to move forward as a denial of their suffering, and he can't stand it. He believes they're denying his experience, invalidating the hurt he's lived with for so long."

   Spencer's voice dropped a little lower as he continued, his words sharp and clear. "We believe he sees himself as a savior of sorts. He's projecting his own unresolved anger and trauma onto his victims, forcing them to relive their pain. In his mind, he's releasing them from it—freeing them from the cycles of suffering he believes they're trapped in. That spiral he carves into their skin... it's his signature. It represents his twisted belief in the inevitability of suffering, and his role in ending it for them."

   Hotch's voice had resumed its commanding tone, cutting through the silence. "He's likely very charismatic—able to gain his victims' trust, or at least appear non-threatening enough to lure them into a vulnerable position. His methodical approach, particularly his ability to research and track his victims, suggests he's intelligent. He probably uses social media, public records, or casual conversations to gather information about their personal histories, incorporating those details into his crimes."

   The weight of the case seemed to settle deeper into the room with each of Hotch and Spencer's words. The unsub's cold logic, combined with his need for control, painted him as a dangerous and calculating individual. Spencer stepped forward then, his gaze far away, as he pondered further.

   "We believe he works or lives in a way that lets him move freely—perhaps unnoticed, blending into the background. He's someone who could be a regular in certain circles, especially among vulnerable populations. He might have a history with law enforcement, maybe even a few run-ins, but nothing that would suggest he's capable of something like this. No obvious red flags."

   Hotch finished, his eyes steely with resolve. "He may be tracking our investigation, even inserting himself into the process to stay one step ahead. We'll need to distribute this profile to local shelters, counseling centers, and other organizations serving at-risk individuals. He's targeting these women, and he may frequent these places himself, presenting himself as someone seeking help or trying to connect."

   Jade's mind felt a weight pressing down on her, as if the entire case had become a suffocating cloud around her. Her gaze flickered toward the amber liquid in her glass, the dark bar's atmosphere only amplifying the isolation she felt. Her fingers tightened around the wine glass as the sound of her heartbeat seemed to pound in her ears.

   Taking a sip, Jade's thoughts continued to swirl. The constant talk of childhood trauma, abuse, and the gruesome details of the murders had started to fray her nerves. Each new detail about the unsub felt like another knot in her stomach. She couldn't escape the images of the victims, each one a reflection of a past she couldn't fully outrun.

   The glass was cold against her fingers, but it didn't help. Nothing helped.

   She leaned back against the chair, her mind racing even faster now, caught between the grim weight of the case and the unresolved fragments of her own trauma. She tried to shake it off, but the connection was too much to ignore—the same twisted mind that tormented these women was the kind that often fed on the very same wounds she'd tried to bury.

   And for a fleeting moment, Jade wondered if the unsub was trying to kill off something in himself, too.

   Jade's thoughts were interrupted by a smooth, familiar voice, one that sent a small shiver down her spine.

   "What a surprise," Vincent said, his voice almost too casual as he slid onto the bar stool beside her. She turned, giving him a brief smile.

   "Vincent," she said, her tone friendly but guarded.

   "I'm glad you remember me," he replied with a wry grin, signaling the bartender to bring him a dry martini. The glass was set before him in a swift, fluid motion, and he took a slow sip, never breaking eye contact. "How's life been since the last twenty-four hours we've seen each other?"

   Jade's smile faltered for a moment, but she quickly recovered. "Honestly? Tiring. You might be bad luck."

   Vincent placed a hand dramatically over his heart, feigning hurt. "Ouch. That's cold." He leaned in slightly, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Maybe I could make your day better. Maybe Wednesday?"

   Her eyebrows arched at the suggestion. "Asking me out already?"

   "Couldn't help myself," he said with a shrug, his smirk widening. "Let's skip the long life introductions. We can do that at a dinner table." His voice had a confident edge, like he was used to getting exactly what he wanted.

   If any other guy had said that to her, Jade would've laughed it off with a dismissive wave, but something about Vincent's charm made it harder to dismiss him. She blinked away the thought. She wasn't going to let herself be swayed by looks alone.

   "Well," she said, leaning back slightly in her chair, her eyes narrowing slightly, "that's if I'm even here in two days."

   Vincent's eyes flickered with mild confusion, and he leaned forward, elbows on the bar. "What do you mean?"

   Jade hesitated for just a second before lowering her voice slightly, just enough so only he could hear. "Uhm, I'm actually... sort of on the job." She said it quietly, almost like she was unsure whether to reveal too much. The bartender placed his drink before him, and she offered a brief, nonchalant smile. "Law enforcement," she added simply, before giving a slight shrug. "I live in D.C."

   Vincent nodded thoughtfully, his lips curling into a knowing smile. "Ah, don't worry. I won't tell anyone," he said, his tone smooth, like he was sharing a secret with her. His eyes shifted toward her drink, and he leaned back in his seat. "So, what are we, Romeo and Juliet?"

   Jade's lips quirked, amused. "Romeo and Juliet?" she repeated with a raised eyebrow. "Seriously?"

   "Seriously," he said, his eyes twinkling with that devil-may-care charm, a bit of challenge in his voice. He leaned in closer, and for a brief moment, the atmosphere between them felt charged, like the tension in the air could snap at any second.

   As they exchanged words, the murmur of the bar seemed to fade into the background, but Jade's instincts kept her alert. She knew something was off, but she couldn't put her finger on it yet. Vincent was playing it cool, and while his confidence was disarming, Jade couldn't shake the feeling that something was more than just a casual flirtation.

   The dimly lit bar hummed with quiet conversation and the clinking of glasses. Jade sat across from Vincent, her glass half-full as she swirled the amber liquid, listening to his voice filter through the background noise.

   "How is it... working in law enforcement?" Vincent asked, leaning back in his seat with a slight smirk, his fingers tapping the edge of his glass.

   Jade shrugged nonchalantly, her eyes scanning the crowd before landing back on him. "I can't put it too much into detail," she said, her tone even, but there was a certain coolness to it. "I work in a government position."

   Vincent's smile widened as he leaned forward. "So you're the big bad," he said, his voice smooth and teasing.

   She couldn't help but laugh, shaking her head. "Big bad?" Jade repeated with a raised eyebrow.

   "I mean, cops are bad, right? Just imagine the casual agent," he said, eyes glinting with mischief as he took a sip from his own drink.

   Jade's smile faltered as she let out a half-sigh, half-laugh. "We are nothing compared to the average cop," she said quickly, her voice light, though it carried a bit of a playful edge. "That sounded like an insult."

   Vincent raised both hands in mock surrender, his grin never faltering. "I didn't mean it like that." He leaned back in his chair, letting the conversation flow more naturally as Jade shook her head in disbelief.

   "I can't believe you," she muttered, trying to stifle a laugh.

   "So no to our date?" Vincent teased, leaning in slightly, the air between them electric with tension.

   "Actually, yeah." Jade shot back with the same playful tone, her laughter joining his as they both relaxed into the rhythm of their conversation.

   They continued talking for what felt like hours, the back-and-forth casual and effortless. But eventually, the night began to shift. They stood up, making their way toward the exit. As they stepped outside, they collided with a man who stumbled back, his foot catching on the uneven pavement.

   "Excuse me," Jade muttered, the slight irritation in her voice giving way to her usual casualness. It was something that happened when alcohol entered her system—little annoyances seemed to pop up more easily.

   Vincent didn't seem to notice the man at first, but with one swift motion, he shoved the man away from her. "Watch where the hell you're going," Vincent snapped, his tone sharp, his posture suddenly tense.

   Jade's hand shot out instinctively, grabbing Vincent's arm to steady him, her expression a mix of surprise and concern. "Hey—it's fine. I'm alright," she said quickly, her voice soothing, before giving the man a brief glance. He was already brushing himself off, walking away with barely a glance back, like nothing had happened.

   They stood there for a beat, the tension between them thickening, before Vincent looked down at her with a furrowed brow. "Where do I take you from here?"

   Jade hesitated. "No where. I'm living... in a hotel for now," she said, her voice quiet. "My coworker's coming to get me." She could feel Vincent's eyes on her, but she avoided meeting his gaze.

   "Really?" he asked, his voice suddenly more curious. "Who is he?"

   Jade's side glance was sharp, but it was all business. "Uhm, her. Name's JJ."

   Just as she finished speaking, a car pulled up beside them. The window rolled down to reveal a familiar face—blonde hair, warm smile. JJ. "Hey, Jade," JJ greeted her before offering a polite wave to Vincent.

   The exchange was short, just enough for Jade to slip into the passenger seat before the car drove off.

   JJ settled into the driver's seat, glancing at her with a raised brow. "Didn't know the guy would be there," she muttered under her breath as the car started moving.

   "Me neither," Jade replied, her tone distant as she looked out the window, feeling the weight of the last few hours sinking in. Her thoughts swirled, her mind going over the subtle interaction with Vincent.

   JJ glanced at her, her voice softer. "Are you... okay?" she asked, her concern clear. "Spencer wanted to make sure you weren't drunk or anything."

   Jade huffed quietly, shaking her head. "I didn't plan on getting drunk," she muttered under her breath. "I'm fine. I just like to be alone. I'm used to being alone." Her words hung in the air, heavier than she intended.

   JJ nodded quietly, glancing at Jade with a hint of understanding. "Still getting used to it?"

   Jade let out a slow breath before nodding. "Yeah," she said softly, the weight of her emotions catching up with her. The silence in the car grew thicker as JJ didn't press further, letting Jade settle into her own thoughts.

   Outside the car window, the city passed by in a blur, the neon lights of the street signs flickering like distant stars. But Jade couldn't shake the feeling that tonight's meeting with Vincent might have been more than just coincidence. Something about it didn't sit right with her—she couldn't quite put her finger on it, but the uneasy feeling lingered, gnawing at the back of her mind as the car carried them toward home.

⭓ MICHIGAN, detroit ≋ 7:23 AM

   Jade walked into the bullpen that morning with her usual calm, purposeful stride. Her heels clicked against the floor in a steady rhythm, a contrast to the chaos of her thoughts. She was still processing everything from the night before—the case, the unsettling proximity of danger, and the quiet, gnawing anxiety she tried to ignore.

   "Jade," came a voice, smooth and familiar. She glanced up to see Spencer, as punctual as always, a cardigan draped over his frame. His posture was rigid, and his expression... concerned, though he was doing a pretty decent job of hiding it.

   She didn't crack a smile, though. Not today. Not for this.

   "Are you about to lecture me?" she asked, her tone flat, almost mechanical. She couldn't deal with this right now.

   Spencer hesitated, his fingers nervously tapping against his stack of files, before blurting out, "It's just... probably not the best idea to go out drinking on the job, especially with strangers." He quickly followed with a barrage of statistics, voice laced with caution, "In a situation like that, it increases the risk of vulnerability. People who go out in unfamiliar situations—"

   Jade cut him off with a raised hand. "What?" Her mind immediately darted to JJ. "I don't know what JJ told you, but I didn't know he'd be there. It was a coincidence."

   Spencer's gaze softened, but he wasn't backing down. "You... gave him your number," he said slowly, as though analyzing each word before saying it. "That's—It's dangerous, Jade. Especially with a killer on the loose."

   Jade's chest tightened, and she crossed her arms defensively, a frown deepening on her face. "What makes you think he'd kill me?" she snapped, irritation bubbling just under the surface. "Why would the unsub target me?"

   Spencer winced, seeing how quickly her temper flared. He quickly backpedaled, voice dropping to a softer tone, almost apologetic. "I'm not saying he would," he reassured, watching her brow furrow even deeper. "I just... we have to be careful. We're dealing with someone who's methodical and..." He trailed off, unsure how to finish, afraid he'd say the wrong thing.

   Before he could say anything more, Derek strolled in with his usual nonchalant air, a large cup of coffee in his hand. "Morning," Derek greeted, flashing a smirk as he took a sip of his drink.

   Jade didn't offer much more than a terse nod, still seething with the remnants of frustration. Without a word, she walked past Spencer and followed Derek into the meeting room. Spencer hesitated for a second, his eyes lingering on her back, but he followed suit, his hands gripping the edges of his file as though it could somehow anchor him in the storm of emotions he wasn't quite equipped to handle.

   They all settled in at the table. Spencer quietly took his seat, adjusting his cardigan with a bit more care than usual, and Jade remained as distant as ever. The familiar tension of their work always hung thick in the air, but today it felt heavier—fueled by something deeper.

   Jade's sharp words, Spencer's concern, and the weight of the investigation ahead clung to the space between them, as they prepared to dive into another dark corner of the case. The silence wasn't uncomfortable, just full of things left unsaid.

   "So," Derek broke the awkward silence, his voice casual, but his eyes betrayed curiosity as he leaned back in his chair.

"We've been looking into the victims' activities leading up to their murders—starting with about five weeks ago. Turns out, all five women had one thing in common: they were at the Motor Bar, just at different times," Derek said, holding up a file. "We're pulling surveillance footage from the nights they were there. Garcia's already on it."

Jade's head tilted slightly at this, her eyes flickering upward, though she said nothing.

Spencer noticed, glancing at her from the corner of his eye but remaining silent. JJ, who had been quietly flipping through her own notes, subtly looked between Jade and Spencer, her brows furrowing in mild confusion.

Hotch, always perceptive, scanned the room. It didn't take a profiler to notice the strange tension brewing. His gaze landed on Derek, who was calmly sipping his coffee like he had no part in the growing unease. "Something wrong?" Hotch asked sharply, his authoritative tone cutting through the quiet. "Does anyone have something to say?"

Dead silence.

Derek shrugged, looking entirely unbothered. "Not me, boss," he said with a smirk, raising his coffee cup slightly as if to emphasize his innocence.

"JJ?" Hotch prompted, his piercing eyes narrowing in her direction.

JJ pressed her lips together and shook her head.

"Reid?" Hotch asked, his patience thinning.

Spencer hesitated, his hands fiddling with the edge of the file in front of him. "Uh, it's... not really my place to say," he mumbled, his words rushed and awkward, clearly uncomfortable under the weight of Hotch's scrutiny.

Hotch opened his mouth to respond, but Jade cut him off. Her tone was even, almost detached. "I was at the bar last night," she admitted, folding her arms across her chest. "I didn't bring it up because I figured it wasn't a big deal. I had one drink—just one. I didn't black out or anything, and I wasn't there to snoop around."

"On the job?" Hotch's jaw tightened, his usually calm demeanor cracking slightly. He turned to Derek, eyebrows raised.

Derek held up both hands, feigning innocence. "I had nothing to do with that one," he said smoothly, taking another sip of coffee for good measure.

Hotch sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as if to ward off a headache. "Well?" he pressed, looking back at Jade.

"Well," she mimicked, shrugging. "The bar was normal—secluded, quiet, and just as boring as any other spot in this city. I didn't see anything unusual because I wasn't looking for anything. I was with... a friend." Her voice dipped slightly on the last word, but she kept her expression neutral.

Before Hotch could respond, Derek's phone buzzed. He pulled it from his pocket and glanced at the screen. "Garcia just sent the footage," he announced, setting his coffee down and opening his laptop. Within seconds, he had the video up on the monitor.

The room fell silent as the team gathered around the screen, watching intently. The grainy footage showed Lila Everett sitting at the bar, her posture relaxed but wary. Moments later, a man approached her, smiling and leaning in as if to say something. She looked up at him, hesitant at first, before nodding as he slid into the seat beside her.

"That's him," Hotch said grimly, his voice low and cold. "Every tape shows the same man approaching each victim. He starts by saying their name, orders the same drink, and sits down."

Jade's breath caught in her throat as her eyes landed on the man in the footage. She turned away from the screen, but something made her stop. A jolt of recognition shot through her, and she spun back around, leaning in closer.

Her face went pale. "That's the guy," she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Who is he?" Spencer asked, his eyes darting between Jade and the screen, his tone laced with both curiosity and concern.

Jade swallowed hard, her fingers curling into fists at her sides. "Vincent," she said quietly, her tone sharper now, like she was forcing the name out of her mouth. "His name is Vincent." Her eyes were glued to the monitor as if she were staring at a ghost.

The room went still as everyone exchanged glances. Hotch didn't say a word, his sharp gaze fixed on Jade, but the weight of unspoken questions hung heavy in the air.

"That's the guy who took your number a few nights ago?" Derek asked, his tone equal parts disbelief and concern as he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table.

Jade nodded, her voice steady but laced with unease. "That's who I was with yesterday. Same bar. Same spot. He ordered a dry martini."

Hotch's expression darkened, his gaze sharpening as he processed her words. The air in the room grew heavier.

Spencer, who had been silently observing the interaction, suddenly straightened, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife. "He was targeting you," he said, the realization hitting him as his mind raced to connect the dots. His tone was almost clinical, but his worry was evident.

JJ frowned, her brows knitting together. "But why would he target you? It doesn't fit his victimology—he hasn't gone after anyone like you before."

Hotch spoke up, his voice calm but firm. "It could be anything—a personality resemblance, a sudden fixation, or stalking. Predators like him don't always follow a logical pattern."

Jade looked down at her hands, her fingers twitching slightly as if she were trying to ground herself. The edges of the room felt like they were closing in, her mind slipping into a haze.

"Do you know his full name?" Hotch asked, his tone softening just enough to keep her anchored.

She shook her head. Before anyone else could speak, Derek reached for his phone and hit speed dial. "Garcia," he said smoothly, his tone switching to something lighter, almost playful. "Hey, sweetheart."

"Talk to me, chocolate thunder," Penelope's voice came through, bright and full of energy.

Derek smirked. "Did you—"

"I already ran him," she interrupted, her voice shifting into business mode. "Vincent Kane. Thirty-two years old, born in Detroit. Last known address was this rundown apartment complex that's been condemned for years. He's bounced between jobs—factory worker, night-shift janitor, delivery driver. The factory job? Fired after a fight with a coworker. The janitor gig? Quit after complaints about his creepy behavior. And the delivery driver thing? Booted for erratic behavior and not following the rules. Right now? Unemployed."

"Sounds like a real stand-up guy," Derek muttered, shaking his head.

Penelope continued, her voice a little heavier now. "It gets worse. He's got a record. Arson at fourteen—he set fire to a foster home after an argument. No one was hurt, but investigators thought it was deliberate. Then there's theft, assault, vandalism. The pattern? Escalating violence and serious control issues."

"What else, baby girl?" Derek prompted.

"Breaking and entering at twenty-two—he snuck into an abandoned building where he used to live as a runaway. Claimed he was 'retracing his steps.' Charges dropped because there wasn't intent to steal. Then, assault at twenty-five—a bar fight. He severely injured the guy, apparently because the victim made a comment about 'weakness.' He did six months for that one. Oh, and court-mandated therapy after the assault? He bailed after a couple sessions. The therapist noted narcissistic tendencies and unresolved rage."

Derek let out a low whistle. "So, he's been flying under the radar for a while."

"Like a ghost," JJ added, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. "He's been right under our noses for three days."

"Thanks, Garcia," Derek said, his tone softening.

"Always here for you," she replied, and the line clicked off.

The weight of the information hung in the air, the room eerily quiet.

"Did he know you work for the FBI?" Hotch asked, his voice slicing through the silence.

"No," Jade answered quickly, shaking her head. "I mean, I told him I was working last night, but I didn't say where or what I do. He didn't seem to know."

JJ exchanged a glance with Hotch. "Nine times out of ten, he did," she said, her tone laced with skepticism.

Spencer spoke up, his words quick but deliberate. "It's highly likely he knew. Predators like him often conduct extensive surveillance. If he's been stalking you, he probably figured out where you work. He approached you because he saw you as a potential target—either for information or as part of an obsession. He could see himself in you."

Jade's breath hitched, her focus wavering as she processed Spencer's words. "I—I have a date with him tomorrow," she blurted, her voice cracking slightly. "He asked me out. He was... really pushy about it. When we left the bar, some guy bumped into me, and Vincent lost it. He shoved him. And when I told him JJ was picking me up, he thought it was a guy and—he just..." She trailed off, her voice shaking.

"Aggressive? Possessive?" Spencer asked gently, his head tilting slightly as he observed her.

She nodded. "Yeah. Both."

Hotch straightened in his chair, his expression hardening. "You're going on that date."

Jade blinked, confused. "You mean... undercover?"

Hotch nodded, his tone resolute. "We need him to talk. If he thinks there's some sort of connection between you, you can use it to coax a confession. But only if you're comfortable with it."

Jade hesitated for a moment, then nodded slowly. "I'll do it," she said, her voice steady now.

✸

authors note: HAHAHAHAHAHAHA